Liars (Licking Thicket 2)

I sat down on the edge of the sofa closest to him and clasped my hands between my knees. Wait.

“How did you know she was my niece?”

Parrish’s face flushed an attractive pink again. His creamy skin showed everything.

“I didn’t mean to. It’s just that you left her chicken passie and I tried to follow you with it and the bailiff told me it was a custody case between an uncle and grandparents and I thought, ‘No way that beautiful man is a grandparent,’ which, I mean, look at you. Ha. Oh.”

He seemed to realize he’d called me beautiful right about the time Marigold let rip a massive burp. She’d unknowingly saved us from an awkward moment.

“Oh,” he said again, glancing down at the offender. “I’m sure you feel better after that, right, Miss Priss? Of course you do. Anyway, like I said, I didn’t mean to pry or anything. And I wanted to apologize for getting… judgy in the men’s room. That certainly wasn’t my intention. I’m sure you don’t need a nosy busybody butting in where he doesn’t belong and passing judgment on you when you’re—”

I couldn’t take another minute of his apologies. “Stop. Please stop.” Parrish looked up at me like a rabbit frozen in fear. “I just… you keep apologizing, and I don’t understand why. You were incredibly helpful that day, and I should be the one bringing you a casserole. In fact, I have your tie. I need to dry-clean it, though. Or whatever takes baby puke residue out of polyester.”

“Silk,” he said faintly. “But it’s fine. Keep it. If I could help in any way at all…”

“Actually,” I said, clenching my hands together even tighter. “There is something you can help me with.” How the hell could I ask this of a complete stranger?

Marigold burped again, and I sighed. That was why. I would do anything to keep my sweet girl from being raised by nannies in a cold house full of the worst kind of snobs who probably wouldn’t even let the girl burp when she wanted. The Kensingtons had taken my sister in after our parents died, but they’d never made her feel loved. Hell, even their own daughter, Stella, hadn’t grown up feeling loved and accepted. Instead, she’d bolted from their stringent rules at the first opportunity, marrying a man she’d met on vacation in Australia during college and never coming back.

I couldn’t let those assholes raise my sister’s baby. I’d do whatever it took to win full custody of her the way my sister had wanted.

I swallowed my pride and forged ahead. Parrish looked at me with an innocently eager expression on his face, like he’d be willing to change another diaper or warm up the casserole if I’d needed.

This wasn’t quite as simple.

“Um, so… you know I’m trying to get custody of her, and…” I closed my eyes and tightened my jaw. I hated telling people my personal business. No one in town really knew what was going on. Hell, I didn’t think anyone other than Birdie and Dot even knew I’d had a sister once upon a time.

“And, what?” Parrish encouraged softly.

“And I’m not a good enough candidate. Stewie thinks I’m going to lose even though my sister stipulated me as Marigold’s guardian in her will.”

“How is that possible?” Parrish asked, seemingly disgusted on my behalf. Then his face fell. “Do you have a record or something? Is that why?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. It wasn’t the first time someone had made a snap judgment about me, but it stung more coming from him for some reason. “I do not have a record.”

He at least looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he muttered, focusing back on Marigold. “I… sorry.”

“Anyway, the reason is because the people who adopted my sister, the ones claiming to be Marigold’s grandparents, are rich and perfect on paper in a way I could never be. So, by comparison I look like gutter trash. I have temporary custody of the baby while the hearings are ongoing, and the Kensingtons only have visitation, but that could all change if the judge decides to overrule my sister’s wishes.”

Parrish’s chin firmed up. “You’re not gutter trash. You’re…” He looked around, glancing outside the window where a stack of rusting vehicles glowed in the afternoon sun. “A businessman,” he finished lamely.

I appreciated the effort.

“Yeah, well, they aren’t very impressed with my business since most of my transactions are in cash and trade. On paper I look like an unemployed loser as well as some kind of single man playboy.”

“You’re a playboy? What does that mean, exactly? You sleep around or something?” Parrish looked like he didn’t want to appear curious, but I could see right through him. “How would they even know that about you? Did they hire a private detective?”